In late February 2022, an old friend, Pete, formerly my boat neighbour from the days when I lived on the water in Hartlepool marina, asked me if I wanted to spend most of April helping him sail his yacht across the Mediterranean.
For a while I had ignored his email as I knew not how to respond. I now know why but for a time, I didn't. I know now that my comfort zone had shrunk in size but I was not aware of it at the time.

Since the arrival of Covid, when our freedoms were so rudely taken away, our world suddenly became much, much smaller.
We used to be out and about, travelling and exploring but once the restrictions were applied, we focused our thoughts and energies on things closer to home. During the lockdown we had sold our yacht, bought a woodland in South Wales then moved to South Wales then, still in the lockdown, bought and restored a house; all this whilst Tegs and I both held down full-time jobs. A tall order I know but we did it because we didn't have anything else to do.

Once established in South Wales, we focused our time on the woodland, the house and more importantly, growing food, as we are becoming increasingly aware of rising costs and potential food shortages. The net result of this is that our comfort zones had reduced to the areas that we spend most of our time in. Sometime later, I discussed this with Pete, who listened intently and nodded as if in agreement and then pronounced that it was 'because I was getting old'; a fact that I cannot deny.
In fact, since knowing Pete, I have aged over six years but does that make him partly responsible? Just saying.....

Pete's plan was to sail from Torrevieja to Greece, via Sardinia and Sicily; a journey of some eleven hundred miles or so, which would start on the 7th of April to arrive in Greece around the 22nd. However, the concept of the travel to Spain, then the sailing and the travelling back made me extremely apprehensive and I hadn't ever experienced apprehension like this before.

I discussed this sailing plan with Tegs and pointed out that April was our key growing time, perhaps in a bid to talk myself out of it but Tegs was strong and reminded me that it was better to regret something that I had done rather than to regret something I hadn't. She felt that I would start a conversation with, "if only I had .....", for many years to come.

Bless her, she didn't really want me to go and I didn't know if I wanted to go or not but she talked me into it. We have been an item for nearly seven years and in that time, the longest we have been apart for is three days, so this was a big thing for her. And it was me that was going away and would be distracted with the sailing and her stuck in the same house, in the same big bed and with nothing to take her mind away from it.

In the run up to the big day, we were careful to avoid anything that could jeopardise the trip - like falling out of a tree or some such but then Tegs started to feel unwell and tested positive. I don't think there would ever be a 'good' time to test positive but if there was ever a bad time it would be fifteen days before my flight and coinciding with a caving holiday with friends. This did little to ease my apprehension but I vowed that I had to remain negative or get it and if I was to get it, I had to be positive within the next five days, otherwise I would likely still be positive on the day of travel too. Tegs and I share everything through thick and thin and I certainly wasn't going to abandon her when she was unwell, so we carried on as we normally would; we held each other through the night and occasionally exchanged body fluids too. But I didn't get it; instead, I just stuck with the snotty cold that I had been blighted with for more than a month. To be fair, I (we) have missed out on at least one heavy cold and three bouts of the snuffles per year, so I have eight or more colds to catch up on.

Conscious that I may have been a Covid carrier, I thought I should avoid the caving and spend the days digging vegetable patches amongst the woodland trees but here I was bitten on the forearm by an unknown something-or-other, which I now assume was a horse fly. I didn't give this bite much consideration, although it was insanely itchy; figured it would just go away on its own. However, two weeks later my forearm started to redden and swell around the bite. Tegs rubbed some antihistamine on it but it didn't help and through the day it got worse, considerably worse. On Saturday evening, three days before the flight, my arm was swollen and red from my wrist to my elbow, with blisters around the area of bite and I was losing the circulation in my fingers. Again, this did little to ease my apprehension.

Tegs was in a panic and to be fair, I wasn't particularly happy about it either but we were at a loss to know what to do. Since the Covid mess, it seems impossible to see a doctor, not that it was that easy before, so we searched the cupboards for tablets. I find in times like this, that all tablets work - the placebo effect, I think. It doesn't matter what tablets I swallow, birth control pills, dog worming tablets or suppositories, they all work. In this instance we found some red ones (red ones are always best) which were from a course of anti-biotics which Tegs didn't finish. Tegs Googled them and found them suitable; I didn't need to Google them as I knew they would work cos they were tablets and they were red.

Sunday the 3rd
There was no change but that said, it was no worse.

Monday the 4th
The redness and swelling was reducing although it was still insanely itchy, so we were still on; but this had not eased my apprehension; in fact, it had probably made it worse. I saw these as red flags which all said I shouldn't go, so I discussed this with Tegs and again she said I would regret it if I didn't go. It was almost like she wanted rid of me.

Tuesday the 5th
We were up early as Tegs dropped me off at the airport before work. She was quite tearful, so I didn't hang around watching and waving, it just makes the emotion worse. Instead, I shouldered my rucksack and sauntered into the terminal. I hate goodbyes. I've found that as I get older, I find it harder to hide my emotions and I hate crying, particularly in public.

I was really early but this suits me as I'd rather get through the check in and security so I can relax on the other side. And it was a good job I was early too. Over the previous few days I had struggled with the Spanish passenger locator form. It's an online thing and I never do well with them. In fact, I've got to the point of changing my plans, so I avoid such things - another age thing I suppose. Every time I tried to complete the form and generate the much-needed QR code, the system would say it was "unable to process my request at the moment and I should try again later". Well. I did, again and again but I couldn't clear this hurdle. What I needed was to roll a double six to start the game but luck was not on my side.

The evening before the flight I had tried again but still no joy and on checking my account on the computer, I had half a dozen applications all being 'processed'. I was at a complete loss to know what to do as there was no one to contact and no self-help system. Thus, I arrived at the airport check in with loads of paperwork but without the magic QR code. The lady at the check in desk was very pleasant but unfortunately, the first thing she asked for was the very thing I didn't have. I showed her the various screen grabs that displayed my efforts and she patiently went through the form on my behalf but still no double six could be thrown. It all seemed straight forward to me; if she would just let me on the plane, no QR code would be needed as I could tell the Spanish of my location myself. But try as we might the booking in system would not allow me to progress on until I'd thrown that double.

After speaking with many of the airport hierarchy, I was advised to start the whole process from scratch and to stop the system from recognising my previous attempts via my passport number; I should change it. "What? Make up a passport number?" I questioned. "Sort of", was the answer. So, I filled out the forms again, this time adding a 0 at the start of my number sequence and as if by magic, a double six appeared and I was in the game. It was not before time either as I was a quivering wreck.
That QR code didn't just affect me, it affected Pete and all of our sailing plans too. Having finally checked in and cleared security I could relax but first I had to find a toilet and clear the problem that my nerves and apprehension had caused.

After that, all was well; the plane was half empty, so I had acres of space and my only problem was clearing my ears on our descent into Alicante. The month long cold I had endured had blocked up some of my sinuses.

In Alicante, the weather was very different from the weather in South Wales. It's normally diabolical in Wales and it made a refreshing change to find it dry as Tegs dropped me off but now in Alicante, I found the weather to be equal to the South Walian norms or possibly worse and I was soaked through in the short time it took to exit the plane and run to the shuttle bus. At the terminal, the first thing they asked for was the magic code and I was very pleased to get all that palaver out of the way without further stress. Then, since my luck had clearly improved, my bag was the first one out on the carrousel - I was on a roll.

Outside the airport, I struggled to find the bus. There were plenty of coaches on the ground floor but all booked by holiday companies and on the next floor there were only taxis and car parking. I mooched around for a while then eventually found someone to ask. "Buses? Yes, they are on third floor". I didn't know there was a third floor - that's like .... the roof! Now why didn't I think about the third floor; let's take the biggest and heaviest vehicle to the highest floor! It made total sense and I questioned why I didn't look up there first.... not.

At the bus stop with Torrevieja written above it, I read the timetable which said the bus runs every two hours but by then my luck was done and I was clearly only rolling twos and threes as the next bus was in one hour and fifty-five minutes, implying that I had missed the last one by five minutes, which was considerably less than the time taken to search the lower floors. So, one hour and fifty-five minutes to wait for the bus, plus a fifty minute journey to the bus station at Torrevieja and a twenty-minute walk to the marina in heavy rain. I pondered over this for less than a second then walked down a floor and found a taxi. So, I jumped into a taxi and after initially trying to get in the wrong side, I was soon comfortable in the passenger's side, to the point that it felt so natural that I struggled to remember which side of the car I normally sit in. It was all a bit weird and not helped by the driver's mirror being aligned so he could see out of it but I could not.

At the marina I found Pete in an apartment. We had discussed staying on Muirgen but the yacht was in the boat cradle awaiting lifting in the morning and we were not allowed to stay on board, so after our greetings and me throwing my rucksack into the room, we headed off to a marina bar. The weather was still horrendous and it was no surprise to find most of the bars were closed or empty, since the roof covers normally used to provide a little shade from the normally scorching Spanish sun, did little to stop the wind and the rain from driving through. Sitting in thick coats and hats, we managed just a couple of pints before the cold and wet got to us and it was clear that the bar owner had had enough and wanted to go home.

Spain seems to be geared up for the sun, not the rain and the ground didn't know what to do with this deluge. At home, our roads are cambered and our paths slope to encourage water to run away but not in Torrevieja. In the bar, the puddle around the toilets and the entrance was nearly over my shoes and the puddles back to the apartment were of a similar depth. Both Pete and I had wet feet when we got in.

Wednesday the 6th
We were up fairly early and in the marina yard before eight. It had finally stopped raining but was still cold. I was wearing two fleeces and a hat but I was still in need of some warmth and fortunately I was rejuvenated by a few minutes of sunshine that flicked through the holes in the clouds.

The lifting of Muirgen went well and we were surprised to see how little foul had gathered on the copper-coating over the last year or so; the copper clearly working well. Our task for the day was to inspect the hull, grease the prop and fit new anodes and all was looking good until the yard guys started pressure washing and then the dice stopped rolling. No sixes, no fives, no numbers at all as the pressure washer highlighted weakness in the copper-coat and more importantly, weaknesses in the keel's epoxy, as the coatings were missing in many areas. We briefly discussed painting standard eroding anti-foul over the vulnerable areas of the copper-coat but a bodge-up of the keel's coating wasn't so straightforward. Water had penetrated the joint between the keel and the hull and the subsequent rusting of the keel had pushed the epoxy coating off leaving some areas of the keel and the joint unprotected. There was no easy fix for this, so we were faced with two options; one was to lift back in and have this work done in Greece and the other was to abandon our plans and get all the work done now, whilst Muirgen was still out of the water. I stand by Pete's decision to get it done straight away, as I understand his reasoning. To sail a yacht a long way from the shore, you should trust it implicitly. It is the cocoon that envelops and protects life; it is the security blanket to secure you in your darkest days and apart from your home and your transport, it is your preferred life raft. For a yacht to be all these things, the trust and confidence in it needs to be 100%. If there is a shred of doubt in any area, it will distract thoughts and actions when they are needed most and mistakes made when the situations are dire have serious repercussions that may cause the loss of the yacht and may cause the loss of life too.

Seventeen days said the yard owner and following a raised eyebrow, he explained that it was Easter and Easter in Spain is more of a holiday than Christmas is in the UK, thus there is a big shut-down and nothing gets done. So, there was nothing more that we could do either, bar reassessing our situation over a couple of beers, so that's what we did. The beers came with a complimentary ramekin of peanuts and with the nuts came a flock of sparrows and a collared dove, who all strutted around our tabletop and crapped down the backs of the chairs. The bar staff try to deter these but Pete and I appreciate the joys of nature and were happy to share our space and it wasn't long before the birds were perched on our fingers as they ate from our hands.

In the afternoon we removed the anodes and carried out some other jobs. Pete thought the lazy jack bag might be full of rain and we should drop the boom and let it drain. In hindsight, we should probably have done this after we removed the anodes and not before as the water dripped from the underside of the hull for ages after and much of it found its way down the back of my neck.

Thursday the 7th
The weather had broken and as promised, the sun was out, the sky was blue and the wind was favourable. Pete and I took breakfast at a waterfront cafe and watched said day unfold, with the pair of us both thinking and finally vocalising how perfect this weather would have been for our first day's sail. We could see Muirgen from our sunlit corner of the cafe courtyard and we could see the yard guys at work. By the time we had wandered back to the yard, for Pete to photograph some rigging blocks that he wishes to replace, the guys had already replaced a sea cock and started sanding the copper coat. I was hoping they could get ahead of schedule but Pete had no expectations and therefore no disappointments, so he added a couple of days onto the yard owner's guide, just to be sure.

That day the sun was hot and brought a radiance to our skins and this wiped away the last threads of nervous apprehension and doubt and replaced these feelings with a lust for adventure, which was quickly overpowered with a resentment for the necessary repairs that now prevented our journey. More beers that evening ticked some boxes but they did little to placate the resentment for the loss of the immediate adventure.

Friday the 8th
Pete and I were up and out at six-thirty as we had a twenty-minute walk to the bus station, which marked the start of another journey. On the bus we chatted about where we should have been. The sea was flat calm as we had walked past the bay and the wind was very light. The tail end of the storm had left the mainland and whilst there might still have been some wind further offshore, Pete thought it would be too light and we would have been under engine but twenty-four hours into our journey and in favourable conditions, we should have been over one hundred and thirty miles out. We said our goodbyes in the airport, with no tears or drama and having travelled on a bus, a plane, a bus, two trains and a car, I finally arrived home at four o'clock to dwell on my thoughts. By this time, we should have been over two-hundred miles offshore and the fact that I was sitting at home was disappointing but gone was the nervousness and gone was the apprehension, as the perimeter of my comfort zone had been extended back out to its normality - I was rolling sixes again and was back in the game.